


Gotham City: Underworld

by HordesoftheThings



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Verse inspired, Bat-Gadgets, Batman lurks in the background, Damien Wayne isn't born yet, Gen, Jason Todd is Dead, Many Villains - Freeform, Many many chapters, More characters to be added, Nightwing is narrator, Nightwing is the main character, Not Arrowverse, Not Gothamverse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Tim Drake is away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-28 03:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12596692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HordesoftheThings/pseuds/HordesoftheThings
Summary: I don't write for a DC TV show, but if I did it might look like this. Inspired largely by the Arkham games but not set in the Arkhamverse.Currently on hold until I learn to stop writing five different chapters simultaneously and get myself organised.





	1. Night(wing) of Gotham

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic ever. Be nice.

The wind rushes through my hair as I race down the freeway. It’s moments like this when I can relax. I don’t get a lot of opportunities to do that. What with working in the police force, and my other activities out of work…  
My name is Richard Grayson. I’ve used others as well. Once, I was a ‘Flying Grayson’ – a spectacular circus act, doomed to disaster. Then I gained a new identity as Robin, the Boy Wonder, until I grew up that is. I redesigned myself once more, with a new name and new identity. No longer in the shadow of the Bat, I became protector of Bludhaven – Nightwing.  
Oh yes, my legal guardian is Batman. How cool is that?  
  
I move my bike into the slip lane and turn off the freeway towards the city. Gotham. My home for so many years. Infamous for having a disproportionally high number of costumed criminal lunatics. Although in many ways Bludhaven is just as bad. Smaller than Gotham and much poorer, this is where the real crime happens. Gotham gets theatrical criminals intent on world domination or multi-million heists. Bludhaven gets rapists, muggers and drug dealers. When Gotham is regarded as upmarket, you know your city is in the gutter.  
I’m back on familiar roads now. Apparently, my work with the Bludhaven P.D. had caught the attention of Commissioner Gordon, and he wanted my assistance in Gotham. The Commissioner is a good man. We’ve met a lot of times – not that he realises this. Despite everything in Gotham, he truly believes he can help the city. Lesser men would have given up by now. Perhaps if he had, it would just be another Bludhaven.  
Of course, he had some help. Mr ‘I am the Night’.  
  
I turn left and see the GCPD building ahead of me. A monument to the indomitable spirit of the people of Gotham. Despite weekly villainous rampages, nobody has ever managed to destroy it. It’s something we should be proud of.  
The Commissioner greets me as I enter his office. “Grayson. Good to meet you again. It’s been a while.”  
“I’ve been meaning to visit again, but my work keeps me busy.” I reply. Gordon still looks the same as ever. Greying hair, smartly dressed and with eyes that sparkle with intelligence.  
“Speaking of which, your work in Bludhaven is exceptional. You really are making a difference to that city. That’s why I requested you be moved here for a bit. I want to know what it is you do that has dropped the crime rate so significantly.”  
“I’m sure it isn’t solely down to me, sir.” I lie. My costumed night-time escapades are something Gordon doesn’t need to worry about.  
“You’d be surprised what difference one man can make…” he’s thinking about Batman. So am I. Would the city still be standing without him? I’m not so sure. “Just do what you did in Bludhaven, and we will see what difference it makes.”  
Well, I will certainly be doing what I did in Bludhaven.

As a matter of fact, there was a reason I agreed to move back to Gotham. There’s been rumours of smuggling going on in Bludhaven, apparently supplying to someone in Gotham. Batman will be looking into it of course, but I’m obliged to cover my city.  
Speaking of the Bat, I should probably let him know I’m back in town.  
As I roll up to Wayne Manor, I reflect on how little has changed over the years. Of course, it’s barely used as a house, the real changes happen underneath. It’s an impressive building, but it lacks that lived in feel most homes have.  
Alfred answers the door. He will never change, and this time I’m glad of it. He smiles as he sees me.  
“Master Dick! Wonderful to see you again!”  
“Hello Alfred. I’ve been transferred back to Gotham for a bit. Specially requested by Commissioner Gordon, in fact.”  
“Excellent news. I shall prepare your room at once.”  
“Thanks. Is Bruce in?”  
“It’s been very quiet lately I’m afraid. Master Bruce has been spending more time with the League, and Master Tim is at university now.”  
“Really? It’s been that long since I saw him?” Tim Drake, the current Robin. Great kid.  
“I shall let Master Bruce know you’ve arrived. You know where the kitchen is, of course. Get something to eat.”

As night begins to fall, I review what I know about the smuggling organisation. It’s mostly low-quality raw metals like iron being sold off as though they were pure. Simple stuff really, certainly not quite on the same level as most crime in Gotham. The deliveries are made in the dead of night, with no pattern about when or where. I’m going to need more information. Fortunately, I know just the person to provide it.  
Gotham Clock Tower used to be an impressive sight, towering over the rest of the city. Now, surrounded by skyscrapers belonging to international corporations it seems more like a building stuck in time. Occasionally people discuss demolishing it, but for some reason nobody ever gets around to it. Rumour has it Bruce Wayne bought it. That wouldn’t be so unlikely.  
But I’m not here for the history or the architecture. As the service elevator opens I admire the high-tech office space installed in what was once the room holding the clock mechanism. Lined with data banks and store cupboards; one wall entirely covered by a screen showing a map of Gotham. And in the centre, the person I’m here to see. Barbara Gordon. Despite being wheelchair-bound after the Joker attacked her, she’s still found a way to support Batman as the Oracle, the greatest mine of information in Gotham. She wheels over to me when she sees me.  
“Dick! I had no idea you were coming back from Bludhaven so soon!”  
“Hey Babs. Yeah, your father asked me to support the GCPD for a bit.”  
“It’s always business with you, isn’t it? You could have just lied and said you missed me.”  
“Sorry, I guess Batman’s influence means I gained his social ineptitude.”  
“I suppose that means this wasn’t a social call then.”  
“Sadly, no,” I answer, “I assume Batman’s been looking into the smuggling operations from Bludhaven?”  
“Not in much detail,” Barbara starts up one of her computers and loads up some data on the cases, “He’s been busy with other matters. The Falcone family are back in town.”  
Just what we need. The Falcones control a huge chunk of the criminal activity in Gotham. This smuggling ring would be right up their alley, but –  
“Do you mean this isn’t connected to the Falcones?”  
“That’s what Bruce thinks. Which suggests someone is trying to compete with them. The last thing we need is two crime bosses.”  
“Haven’t they done something about it then? Carmine Falcone is not the sort of person to let other people compete with his business.”  
“Exactly, suggesting our unknown boss is operating from out of Gotham.”  
“They’re not in Bludhaven either. I’ve searched all over the criminal underworld there.” I added. “Any pattern in the delivery dates?”  
“That’s the interesting thing.” Barbara opened a calendar, on which the dates had been marked. “Whoever arranged the deliveries seems to have tried so hard to eliminate a pattern, they ended up creating one. Look.”  
“Second of October,” I read, “third, fifth, seventh, eleventh… Prime numbers.”  
“The Sieve of Eratosthenes,” agreed Barbara, “Cross out every multiple of two, three, five, seven and so on, and the prime numbers are left. By not using any regular patterns of deliveries, they inadvertently created one.”  
“Even better,” I added, “It’s the seventeenth today. That means we should be getting a visit from them tonight.”  
“Do you have to go running all over Gotham tonight? You just got back. Couldn’t we spend some time together instead? I haven’t seen you in months.”  
“Sorry Babs, duty calls and all that. I owe you a meal out.”  
She smiles at that. “You’re as bad as Bruce. If you owed me a meal every time you left me for work, I’d never have to cook for myself again in my life.”

I used to patrol Gotham a lot when I was younger and still working as a sidekick. The city hasn’t changed much since then. The buildings might be newer and shinier, but the network of hidden alleyways and dark shadows that criminals and crimefighters work in remain the same. However hard the city tries to hide it; the dark side of Gotham is there if you know where to look for it.  
Gotham dockyard is a great example. On the surface it’s completely normal, but for those in the know, it’s a hub of criminal activity. Smuggling rings are just the tip of the iceberg. The Falcone family operate in this part of the city. The sheer number of abandoned warehouses is astonishing, and provides many a criminal with their lairs. Rumour has it that a man known only as the Broker lives here, and he can get you absolutely anything for the right price. In short, it’s a place where we always have work to do.  
Speaking of which, from my vantage point on a large crate I spot two men dressed in typical thug gear – black turtlenecks and hats. They’re even wearing masks. Amateurs. Even if I didn’t have years of experience, I could tell they were up to something. A large fat one and a short thin one. They look like the Laurel and Hardy of the criminal underworld. I sneak closer, using cargo crates as cover, and position myself above them, before making my entrance. They jump out of their skin when I drop down in front of them.  
“It’s the Bat!” shouts the fat one.  
“No it isn’t you idiot,” says the other, “it’s… who are you?”  
“Nice to meet you,” I spin my escrima sticks casually, “the name’s Nightwing. Nice night for it. Expecting a delivery?”  
“Get him!” shouts the small man. The large man charges me, but it’s clear he isn’t a fighter. I easily sidestep him, before sticking my leg out to trip him up and knocking the back of his head with the base of one stick to keep him down. I step towards the other man.  
“I hope you can put up more of a fight. Or we can do this the easy way. Who do you work for?”  
Impressively, he remains defiant. “I’ll never tell you.”  
“I will,” says the fat man from below me, “it’s Drury Walker. Warehouse 13.”  
Now it makes sense. The useless thugs, the delivery schedule. Drury Walker, aka Killer Moth. The laughing stock of the criminal underworld. He could in theory be a competent criminal, but it never seems to work out for him. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

I reach the roof of warehouse 13 and look in through a skylight. Sure enough, the man himself is stood in the centre of the room studying a map on a table, with three henchmen also stood by him. I couldn’t see the whole room, but Walker’s reputation makes it difficult for him to get hired help. Chances are they are all he has. Four, unarmed except for Walker. I’ve faced much worse odds.  
I have surprise on my side. I drop down through the skylight and land right on the table. The four men stumble back in surprise, and I knock one down before any of them can respond. Walker steps back towards the corner of the room. He isn’t even in his moth suit, so he must be planning on grabbing it before joining the fight. The two remaining henchmen stand between me and him. They both rush me at once and I dive forwards, rolling to finish up behind one of them. I kick him in the back, before parrying the other one’s attack and knocking him down with an elbow to the face. The first henchman – the one I knocked down first – is back on his feet and dives towards me, but I sidestep and use his momentum to push him into a pile of boxes, which collapse on top of him. The henchmen wisely choose to stay down.  
  
“Walker!” I shout to the room in general “You going to come out now, or do I need to give your thugs another kicking?”  
“Up here Batboy!” He is stood on a large pile of crates, in full Killer Moth gear. While we (and the other criminals) mock him, I have to admit his suit is a master of engineering. The helmet contains infra-red scanning and advanced tracking and targeting systems. The suit itself is thermally regulated and environmentally resistant for late-night flights. The wing pack lasts for an hour without recharge and can fly at 30mph. He’s wielding the cocoon gun as well. A remarkable weapon, capable of encasing someone in a sticky cocoon almost immediately. Very difficult to cut through, impossible to get the stains out of the suit.  
All in all, a feat of engineering. Shame he went for the bright purple colour scheme.  
He swoops down towards me, firing a round from his gun. I dive behind a box for cover, losing sight of him in the process.  
“What’s the matter? Can’t keep up?” He dives again, from behind me. I hit the deck to avoid his attack. He definitely has the mobility advantage. I need to take out his wing pack. Fortunately, I have a few tricks down my leg.  
I decided to forgo the utility belt when designing my costume. This doesn’t mean I’m completely unarmed – far from it. I have plenty of pockets and pouches built in, and if you’ve ever seen what sort of things Batman fits into his belt, you’ll know he is a master at compact packing. From one pouch near my ankle I grab a shuriken. No fancy batarangs for me. Too improbable.  
Killer Moth makes another pass over me, but I’m ready for him this time. I roll out of his line of fire and let loose my shuriken. It impales into the wing pack, which flutters feebly before depositing Killer Moth unceremoniously on the ground. He recovers surprisingly quickly, firing a blast from his gun just over my head. I shelter behind a box and think fast. He’s still dangerous with that gun. Carefully I peer over the box. He hasn’t moved, possibly he injured himself in the fall. He spots me and fires again, forcing me to take cover. Time for a new approach. He’s so focused on me, perhaps I can take advantage of that. I grab my grappling line – a staple part of any bat’s inventory. Killer Moth is so focused on me he hasn’t fully considered his surroundings. He’d fail the first lesson of hero 101.  
I take careful aim at the crates towering behind him and fire my grapple. It grabs in place. Killer Moth looks up at it, then back at my hiding place.  
“It’s no good trying to escape, I have you covered!” Excellent. He misunderstood my plan perfectly. I yank on the grappling line causing the tower to topple over. Killer Moth only has time to look around in astonishment before the crates come crashing down on top of him.

Soon afterwards, after I’ve called in the GCPD to take in Walker and his thugs, I’m stood on the dockside and I hear a noise behind me. It’s only a tiny noise, like a leaf blowing in the breeze, but I’m expecting it, and I know what it is.  
“Hello again,” I say without looking round.  
“Nice work taking down Killer Moth,” coming from Batman, this is high praise indeed.  
“No hello, nice to see you too then,” there never is with him.  
“You’ve been busy tracking down this smuggling ring. I’ve been watching your progress.” Of course you have.  
“This isn’t a training exercise. I can handle myself.”  
“I don’t doubt that. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing in Bludhaven. But you and I both know this goes beyond Gotham.”  
I turn to face him. “Well, it’s a good job I’m up to the challenge, isn’t it?”  
Batman almost smiles at this – the corner of his mouth twitches slightly. I’ve become good at detecting his almost-smiles over the years. “It’s good to have you back Dick.”  
“It’ll be like old times Bruce.”


	2. Masked Threats

Night time in Gotham City. It seems like I’m in the city after dark more than during the day. I suppose that’s inevitable, given my job. I sometimes wonder if Batman ever sleeps, since he spends all day running Wayne Industries and all night patrolling the streets. To be honest, I think he’s glad I’m back in Gotham so he can take a few weeks off duty. So here I am, trailing a couple of thugs through the alleyways in the rain, following an anonymous tip while Bruce puts his feet up in Stately Wayne Manor.  
It’s good to be back.  
So, back to business. The GCPD got a tip about the smuggling ring that has been plaguing us recently. Apparently, the goods were being stored in a warehouse (another warehouse, yay!) belonging to the Sionis Steel Manufacturers. Killer Moth was just the delivery man, someone both the dispatcher and receiver could deny all knowledge of. Typical Walker, thinking he finally was in the big leagues. He was still a pawn in someone else’s game.  
Speaking of pawns, these two goons are barely trying to cover their tracks. It’s almost like they want to be followed. Overconfidence is dangerous, Bruce would be saying to me. The only people who walk with that confidence are either innocent of everything or believe they can get away with anything. Experience has shown it to usually be the latter.

After a long walk through the rain-soaked streets, we finally arrive at the Sionis Steel Plant. I perch on a vantage point in the shadows halfway up a nearby fire escape and consider what I know about Roman Sionis. Not a lot. He’s a business owner rumoured to be linked to criminal activities, but then which business owners aren’t in Gotham? Batman’s had run-ins with him before, but never been able to prove anything. The only thing that stands out is his nickname: Black Mask. Apparently, during one of Batman’s encounters with him, an explosion burned a wooden mask onto his face. Not pleasant.  
The thugs have opened the warehouse door now, and head inside. I follow them in, and make my way over to some crates near the doorway. Carefully I open it.  
Weapons. Lots of them. Pistols, rifles, grenades, a lot of ammunition. Enough to take on the entire of Gotham City, if all the crates in here are like this one. I’m so lost in thought I make the most basic of mistakes. I forget to check behind me. A heavy blow strikes the back of my head and I fall to the floor.

Roman Sionis was having a bad day. Production was down, he had a supply delivery to deal with and worst of all was the constant itching. It’s a widely experienced phenomenon that when a body part can’t be reached, it always becomes particularly itchy.  
His entire face was itching. It did not help his mood.  
And here was some worker come to report something about warehouse 6. Roman couldn’t keep track of all his storerooms, but he was pretty sure there wasn’t anything in warehouse 6. The worker nervously stepped forwards.  
“Warehouse 6 has had a delivery. Yesterday, 6am.”  
“We aren’t expecting a delivery this week.”  
“Nonetheless, there is one.” The worker shuffled through his papers. “I have the paperwork here. Not the usual company, but still. You signed to approve it.”  
Had he? Sionis had signed a lot of paperwork. Ever since he tried restarting his business, his life had become dominated by paperwork.  
“Has anyone actually checked what’s in this delivery?”  
“Umm, yes… you won’t like it.”  
“Well, tell me!”  
The worker stepped backwards. Roman Sionis had a reputation for being short-tempered.  
“Illegal firearms.”  
“What!” Sionis sprung up out of his chair. “We are going to the warehouse. Now.”

I regain consciousness and find myself tied to a chair in the warehouse. The two thugs I followed stand gleefully over me.  
“Well well, look what we have here.”  
“The weapons.” I state. “Black Mask is behind it.”  
“He’s using his brain for once,” the other thug says with a smirk. “Everything in this warehouse is owned by him.”  
“We had a nice little smuggling operation going until you butted in,” continues the first, “but it doesn’t matter now. This is the final delivery.”  
“Before what?” I ask. Keep them talking long enough to use my transmitter…  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” replies the first, “but right now we need to decide what we are going to do with you.”  
Before he can elaborate, the door slams open, and Black Mask himself storms in. He spots the two thugs and addresses them first.  
“What the hell are you two jokers doing in here?”  
“Taking inventory,” replies one thug, “and look what we found.” Here he points to me.  
“Nightwing? Can’t have him snooping around, it’s bad for business.”  
“We were just deciding what to do with him.”  
“Well whatever it is make it quick,” says Black Mask, “I’m on a schedule.”  
“Right.” Says the first thug, turning to face me. Black Mask’s arrival was very fortuitously timed. While he was talking, I had been working on my escapology. The thug is met with an uppercut straight to the jaw. He goes down immediately.  
Sionis and the other thug turn in surprise. They both start running – Sionis towards me, the other man away. I break free of my bonds to meet Sionis in combat. He’s about average – his influence as a crime boss means he had little need of getting his hands dirty. I sidestep a few swings before responding with some of my own, striking quickly and precisely, just how I was taught. I soon overpower him, knocking him to the ground and adding a few more scratches to his mask.

The Commissioner arrived a few minutes later. We stand by as the GCPD take Sionis and the thug away. As he passed us, Sionis shouted out at me: “I’ve been framed. I never ordered those weapons.”  
“We have the paperwork to prove it,” replied the Commissioner. I consider this. Was he framed? He approved the delivery weeks ago, so it’s not like someone could just shove a few crates in and hope to get away with it. No, all the evidence suggests he was the recipient of the deliveries. Just one question left. Who was supplying the weapons?

Sat in a large office was a small man. The office only had a desk and chair so far, but there were boxes of things waiting to be moved in. Soon, this would be a comfortable place to work from. And assuming everything was going to plan, work would be very comfortable indeed.  
A man enters. He hesitantly walks up to the desk.  
“We did it boss. They got Jerry, but it worked. Sionis is out of the picture.”  
“Excellent. That’ll make sure he doesn’t stick his ugly masked face into my business.” And the short man laughed; a horrid quacking laugh, that sounded more like the call of a waterfowl than any human…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the chapters which is more there for narrative purposes than because I wanted to do it. A filler episode before the plot starts properly.

**Author's Note:**

> Give Killer Moth some love. He needs it.


End file.
